Текст книги " Kissing Snowflakes"

Автор книги: Abby Sher

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

For my mom and dad, who told me I could do

anything as long as I brushed my hair.

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Other Titles

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright

Beep beep!

“Hey, kid, you want a lift?” Dad pulled up to the curb in a bright blue rental Explorer, and stuck his head out the window like an eager puppy. My brother, Jeremy, was in the back, staring out the opposite window. Kathy was in the passenger seat, a wide smile plastered across her face.

“Sure,” I said, throwing my duffel in the trunk. I was the last one out from the baggage carousel because they had thought my bag was missing. That’s kind of how I felt today, like a lost, limp bag, on my way to who knows where. I climbed in next to Jeremy.

“The fun starts now, kids!” said Dad. His eyes went back and forth between the two of us in the rearview mirror. They were so wide and hopeful, and I could see how important it was for him that this be true.

“Yippee!” said Kathy, clapping her hands.

Dad wound his way out of the Burlington, Vermont, airport and onto the open road. The mountains rose up around us, great snowy peaks etched against a lilac sky. It was already afternoon. The sun hung low, slowly sifting into fiery reds and oranges, spreading its warm glow over everything. It really was beautiful. Dad navigated us through the roads swiftly and smoothly. He was an excellent driver. So steady and calm. I always felt safe with him at the wheel.

“Ah, isn’t that breathtaking?” he sighed, reaching for Kathy’s hand out over the console.

“This is gonna be a total blast!” she said, leaning on his arm.

I wanted to tell her that nobody said “total blast” anymore. I think that went out soon after “gag me with a spoon.” But I kept my mouth shut and just sighed to myself.

I knew I was being a snot. I knew I should’ve been enjoying the view, feeling the rush of the clear Vermont air, losing myself in the majestic trees towering above us, draped in their dresses of snow. But I felt miserable, watching Dad and Kathy all snuggly in the front seat. Her shiny dark hair fell over her shoulders and she was oohing and aahing as Dad steered us through patches of trees, winding past sleepy villages with tall church steeples, lopsided wooden fences, and an old-fashioned pharmacy called Canfield Corners.

Dad and Kathy. Kathy and Dad.

How had we come here?

Well, we had just flown in from Florida, where Dad and Kathy got married.

Wait. Back up.

It started that night when Mom and Dad announced they were taking some time to “find themselves.” Dad was pacing around the dinner table with his hands in his back pockets. He wouldn’t sit still. Mom was pushing her lamb chop back and forth across the plate. Jeremy was chewing his Tater Tots – with his mouth open, of course. He always chewed with his mouth open even though he was two years older than me. Mom usually asked him to please close his mouth while he was eating. Dad did, too. But that night, nobody said anything about it.

“So, Mom and I have been talking and let me start this by saying that this came after some long and hard thought. We have really tried to make this work and we don’t know what to do right now except this. And I mean, it doesn’t feel right, but really nothing has felt right for a long time. For a long, long time. And so … well, we’ve decided to separate for a while. So, this is just for now. Or for – jeesh, I’m doing a lot of talking. Sarah, do you want to add anything?”

Mom shook her head. Her gray hair swished and then fell back into place and she tucked it behind her ears, but she wouldn’t look up from her plate.

“Do you have any questions for us? Jeremy? Samantha?” That’s me. Samantha. Samantha Iris Levy. Usually everybody calls me Sam, though. And when I’m talking to myself, I call myself Levy. I know, it’s kinda weird. But there you have it.

That was so long ago now. Four years ago, to be exact. Even though it felt like it was yesterday. Even though I could taste it in the back of my throat and feel it pulling my stomach into a tight knot. My hands were sweating and I felt like an overgrown marshmallow in my ski jacket.

It had all happened so fast after that.

Mom stayed in our house (in a little suburb in Westchester, New York), Dad moved about ten minutes away into Chatsworth Towers. His apartment was so small that he made us eggs for dinner and we had to eat them standing up. About a year later, Grandpa got sick, and Dad said he needed to go down to Florida to take care of him. It was supposed to be just for a little while. But the next thing we knew he was moving into his own place down in Orlando, and it had a screened-in porch and a bird feeder where he could see blue jays every morning. Jeremy and I went to visit for a weekend and the whole time Dad had his binoculars out, showing us the difference between the crested flycatcher and the purple martin.

Then he started working at Simmons & Cray as one of the chief financial officers. He said the work was very challenging, an easy commute, and did he mention that he rescued a tree swallow that had fallen out of a branch and that he had started seeing a wonderful woman named Kathy? She was a travel agent, and we would definitely like her because she was a Yankees fan and really into the outdoors and she had a cat named Annette. I tried to tell him that he didn’t like cats, but Dad just said, “I thought I didn’t. But this is different. Things are different now.”

I asked him when he was moving back, and he said the weather was always sunny, even in October, and then November, and then December.

December 27.

Dad and Kathy set the wedding date so that Jeremy and I could come down for winter break. We flew out on Christmas because Dad found a cheap flight, and besides it’s not like we were missing anything, because we’re Jewish. Kathy came with Dad to pick us up from the airport in her little red hatchback. Everything about Kathy was petite and perky. She had warm, caramel-colored skin and dark, sparkling eyes above her perfect, tiny nose. When we got out of the car at the condo, she came up to my shoulder.

The wedding was in a little Mexican restaurant in Orlando, because Kathy’s family is Mexican. They were married by a justice of the peace, and Dad had this big drooly grin on his face the whole time and then we had really bad Mexican food. The onions in the guacamole gave me a stomachache. The highlight was definitely Grandpa getting up to make a speech at the reception and saying, “You guys are all Mexican, right? So do any of you know what happened to that kid, Elian Gonzalez?”

Kathy’s whole family just sat there, stunned. I laughed a little now, in the car, just thinking about it.

“What’s that, kiddo?” called Dad over the seat.

“Nothin’,” I said.

“I think we’re in for a gorgeous sunset,” he said.

“I can’t wait!” said Kathy, clapping her hands again.

So, that was the story, more or less. And here we were. This was going to be winter break. The four of us were headed to an inn in West Lake, Vermont, for a week of skiing and sitting by the fire, and “getting to know each other.” Ugh. I didn’t even know how to ski. I had a feeling it wasn’t going to come naturally either. I liked running in gym, and I had gone to ballet classes when I was little, but most of the time I was trying not to trip over my own feet. To me, downhill skiing sounded like an invitation to a face dive. Jeremy was psyched, though. He had been skiing a few times with friends and said this time he was going to try snowboarding, too. Dad and Kathy were going to do cross-country, because they heard that was easier to break into. So that left me all alone.

I did have a plan, though. Phoebe and I had talked about it for weeks before. Phoebe was my best friend and we told each other everything. She said West Lake was the capital for hot snow studs, and she was sure I was going to find one at the inn. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about Kathy or Dad or anybody. I had visions of myself flying down the mountain, my scarf whipping behind me, a tall, dark-haired Adonis holding me firmly by the waist. Or he could be blond. And he didn’t have to have muscles. Big muscles kind of ook me out anyway. Just tall. He had to be taller than me. Which meant six feet at least.

Everybody in my family is tall. Dad is 6'2". Jeremy is 6'1". Mom is 5'9" and so am I. It really sucks because most of the guys in my grade are barely my height. Everything about me is kind of long and stringy. My arms, my legs, my hair – which is the color of mud and somewhere between flat and flatter. And I got these long, droopy ears from my dad. That’s why I keep my hair long, and I never wear ponytails. It’s too embarrassing. Jeremy has the same ears, but he’s a boy so he doesn’t care. We also both have a bunch of freckles on our faces. The one thing I actually like about myself is my gray eyes. I’m the only one in my family who has them. My mom says they’re exotic. But I think she says that mostly because she’s my mom. Anyway, I have a thing for eyes. It’s the first thing I notice about people. And I dream about the day when someone will stare all gaga into mine.

It had been so long since I had been with someone. It had been since like – okay, ever. Unless you counted the school play, The Grapes of Wrath, where I got to kiss Leo Strumm. He was playing Al, and I was Al’s Girl and there was this scene where I said, “I thought you said I was purty,” and then he had to kiss me. It was my first real kiss. I mean, I know I’m almost sixteen years old and most people have kissed by then, but I guess I’m a late bloomer and nobody knew it except for Phoebe and my mom but … yeah, there it is.

I had practiced long and hard for that kiss. I made Phoebe sit up with me on my bed and we had smothered my pillows with slobbery smooches. It was a good thing that Phoebe was patient. She’s definitely more experienced than me. She’s just more comfortable around guys than I am. She has red curly hair and cobalt-blue eyes and really pale skin that gets splotches of color whenever she laughs too hard. And she’s good at making conversation, cracking jokes, even walking up to complete strangers at parties and introducing herself.

But not me. I don’t know what it is. I usually have something to say about everything. Seriously. Mom says it’s good that I have opinions. And I do make Phoebe and my other friend Rachel laugh. I know how to say Please take me to your home. I will be a good wife, in Russian. But around guys I feel like my mouth is full of fuzzy marbles. Sometimes Phoebe has to pinch me in the arm just so I’ll say hello. Lately, I’ve been thinking I should just wear a sign that says Really, I’m interesting. Give me a chance. P.S. If I pass out, I’m type O-positive.

Phoebe has kissed a bunch of guys, even dated a few. But a lot of kids in our grade are way ahead of both of us. Like having sex and stuff. Sara Spencer and Kevin Mallon have done it. So have Alissa Paulson and Andy Trotts. And almost everyone on the girls’ lacrosse team lost their virginity on the tournament weekend down in Alexandria, Virginia. Meanwhile, I still have Cookie Monster slippers and I like to sleep with my favorite little pillow – but I hope I’ll catch up one day soon. At this rate, I’ll probably start having sex when I turn forty.

Phoebe said not to give up. That I had to change my attitude. Maybe I was trying too hard. Or not hard enough. I just had to act like myself and act like I liked myself and then guys would see that I was fun to be around. And so we had made a pact. This winter break, something was going to happen. We were going to make it happen. We were going to wear our shiniest lip gloss and put on our brightest smiles. And we were going to find ourselves some men. Some real men.

“Ooh, look at that!” cried Kathy. Two deer leaped across a field after each other, circling playfully around a clump of trees. Hmmrgh. Even deer could find love out here in the woods. There had to be someone for me, too, right?

“Did you see that?” Kathy asked, turning around in her seat. Jeremy was asleep, so she looked at me, her eyelashes batting wildly.

“Yeah, we have deer where I grew up, too,” I said. I knew it was mean, but I was not in the mood.

Kathy seemed unfazed. “It’s just so magical,” she sighed, turning around again. “You know what my favorite thing to do is when it’s snowing really hard?” she continued.

“What?” asked Dad.

“I love to go outside and spend the afternoon kissing snowflakes.”

Dad gave a soft chuckle. “Kissing snowflakes?”

“Yeah! You know, you tilt your head up to the sky and you just let them fall on you. And a lot of them land on your nose or maybe in your eyes and melt. But when you get one, when you really catch the right one on your lips, you know.”

I could see in the mirror Dad had one of those dumb smiles on his face like at the wedding. Ugh.

“I guess it’s kinda silly when I say it out loud,” Kathy said, softer now.

“Yup,” I mouthed, even though nobody was looking at me.

“No, no! I get it,” said Dad. “I think I’ve spent a lot of time staring up at the sky, waiting, and now I’ve got my snowflake to kiss.” And he leaned over again and planted a big one right on Kathy’s perfect rosebud lips.

I thought I was going to break into a million pieces. I was so mad. Why couldn’t Dad find that with Mom? I had never seen him call Mom his snowflake, or stare at her all googly-eyed in the car. Most of our road trips had been up to Connecticut to visit Aunt Doris. We played I Spy or listened to Dad’s Beatles CDs. Once Jeremy stuck a bean from his bean-bag frog up my nose, and I got a nosebleed trying to get it out. Another time Mom threw up in her pocketbook because Dad was taking the turns too fast. They were never romantic and swoony like this. At least not as far as I could remember.

But more than mad, I was jealous. Jealous that Dad had moved on from us. That he had found love. Or dementia – the jury was still out. And now he started whistling. I hadn’t heard him whistle in so long. He was an amazing whistler. It wasn’t just plain old songs, either. His whistling dipped and twirled, trilled and slipped in and out of different tunes. Mostly the Beatles. He did it whenever he was really happy. First it was “Help!” and then it slipped into “Paperback Writer,” mixed with a little of his favorite, “Let It Be.” He had one hand on Kathy’s leg, softly keeping time with his music.

“Hey, Dad? Can we pull over? I gotta pee.” I didn’t really. I just felt like I needed some fresh air. The car felt too small now and all this love stuff was making me a little nauseous.

There wasn’t much in the way of gas stations on this road. Mostly just farmhouses and open fields. Dad finally found a place that looked more like a barn with a wooden sign that said FRESH CIDER! in big green painted letters and blue blinking lights in a little window.

The man inside was covered with dirt and sawdust, standing on a stepladder, hammering something into a ceiling rafter. There was a long wooden table covered in glass bottles of syrup, baskets of onions, garlic, and apples, and chalky balls of soap lying out on pieces of wax paper. A cast-iron stove stood in the corner with a pot gurgling on top.

“Sorry, my wife, Dorothy, is getting the last couple of bottles of cider. Should be out in a sec,” said the dusty man. I loved the way his rust-colored beard blended in with his brown coveralls.

“No problem,” said Dad. “Actually, we were wondering if we could use the restroom.”

“Sure, sure,” said the man, pointing past the stove to a set of swinging doors that looked like they were from an old-fashioned saloon. I went through and found the bathroom.

When I came out, Dad was standing on a chair, just next to the man.

“You see? It’s easy enough. Restructured the whole roof that way,” the man was explaining. His voice was warm and crackly.

“Hey, Sam,” said Dad. “Norm’s just showing me how he put up his own drywall. I’ve been meaning to do that on the porch in the condo.” Norm gave me a smile. His eyebrows were big and bushy, too. When Norm turned back toward the wall, Dad shrugged his shoulders and made a funny face. Dad barely knew how to screw in a lightbulb – I knew he was just listening to Norm to be nice.

I went outside to wait. It was a whole other world here. I looked up. The sky was enormous, hanging on to the last slips of purple, and now I could feel soft flakes falling on my face as I opened my arms and pretended I was floating away with them. Ahhhh. I took a deep breath in and let it out with a deep sigh.

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” came a small voice behind me.

I turned around to see Kathy’s bright teeth open in a wide grin.

“I guess,” I mumbled.

“You just gotta let it go. Just look up and find a flake and … ‘smmmwwk’!” She puckered her lips and squeaked out a kiss.

I stared in horror. Was she for real?

“Come on, try it! It’ll make you feel good!” Kathy said, nodding her head fervently.

“Nah, I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?” she purred. Now she was standing right in front of me, her head tipped up.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Come on, give it a try!”

“Really, that’s okay.”

Then she reached out one of her pink gloves, like she was going to take my hand. I stuffed mine into my jacket pockets quickly.

“Sam. Is it okay if I call you Sam?” she asked.

“Yeah. That’s what everyone else calls me,” I said flatly.

“Where does that come from?”

“It’s short for Samantha.” Were we really having this conversation?

“Yeah, I know. I just thought maybe there was some other …” her voice trailed off into the darkening sky. Then it was her turn to let out a sigh. “Oh well,” she whispered, and turned away. I headed toward the car. Sorry, Kath. Couldn’t she tell that we were not buddies? And we were not going to be, either.

I walked around to the far side of the car and slumped down so she couldn’t see me. I couldn’t believe I had a whole week of this ahead of me. Then I heard the door to the barn open behind me and Dad’s voice, low and soft.

“Hey, what’re you doing out here, sweetie?”

“Just listening to the sky,” she murmured.

“Mmmm, it’s something, huh?” he said.

And then she said something too soft for me to get. I decided I was too cold to wait out here anyway. But as I was stepping into the car, there it was. Another “smmmwwk!” popping in the air. Dad laughed gently.

“C’mon, you try!” she cooed

“Smmmwwk!”

“Smmmwwk!”

They drifted, peppering the air with tiny smacking sounds, Kathy giggling the whole time.

Ugh. I was already sick of snowflakes, and we hadn’t even unpacked.

Bishop Inn was a large Tudor house tucked into a copse of fir trees at the bottom of a windy hill. There was a long driveway that led us around to the back, where there were four other SUVs, each with its share of pillows and ski poles visible through the back windows. One of the cars was covered with bumper stickers – SAVE OUR PLANET, KEEP AMERICA GREEN, and my favorite, MY HYBRID CAN BEAT UP YOUR HUMMER. Dad turned around to face me and Jeremy.

“Okay, where are we, kids?”

It was what he always used to say whenever we got somewhere special. I don’t know how or when it started, but our job was to say, “Here!”

And then he’d say, “And when do we start having fun?”

And we said, “Now!”

This time, I just sat there. Jeremy was still asleep.

“Kids?” Dad tried again, this time shaking Jeremy’s knee. “You wanna show Kathy how we do it?”

“That’s okay, Judd,” said Kathy, putting a hand on Dad’s wrist. Her fingernails were perfect pearly half-moons. “We’re already having fun.”

The inside of the inn was warm and smelled like cedar wood. The first thing I saw when we walked through the door was a crackling fire in the fireplace and two big maroon armchairs in front of it. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high and there was a staircase twisting up onto a balcony. The walls were cherry-stained wood and over the fireplace there was a string of small white Christmas lights and a sketch of a group of men hunting with dogs, and somewhere there was a clock ticking quietly. It was really soothing and homey. Well, if I really couldn’t ski, and I didn’t find the boy of my dreams, at least I had a cozy place to snuggle up and read, right?

“You must be Mr. Levy,” said a tall man with little wisps of gray hair sprouting out of his head and a long, thin nose. He smiled and his light blue eyes got lost in his soft wrinkles.

“That’s me,” said Dad, sticking out his hand.

“Phil Bishop. Nice to meet you.”

“Thank you. We’re very excited to be here. This is my daughter, Samantha, and my son, Jeremy, and my wife, Kathy.”

Wife, Kathy. Deep breaths, Levy, deep breaths.

“Great. Well, let me get you settled in and you can put your things down,” said Phil. He led us past the fireplace to a small study lined with books. Outside the picture window was a huge mass of mountains, piled on top of one another, spilling down the countryside.

“Wow,” breathed Kathy. And for the first time, I had to agree (even though I didn’t tell her that). It was pretty spectacular. I mean, we have trees and some hills in Westchester, but this was different.

Phil was used to the view, I guess. He didn’t even look up, just went to his desk in the corner. It was covered with folders, loose scraps of paper, and pink receipts. On top of one of the piles was a glass plate with a half of a ham sandwich and some crumbs.

“Excuse the mess. There is a method to this madness,” he said, sitting down, pushing the piles into different places on the desk. “Levy … Levy … Levy. Aha! There we are! The Honeymoon Nest!” He looked up at Dad and gave another big smile. Then he looked at me and Jeremy. “And you’ll be going to rooms four and five on the other end of the hall.”

“Looks like you ski quite a bit,” said Dad, walking over to one of the bookcases.

There were framed pictures on practically all of his shelves. Some of them were of the mountains, but most of them were of what looked like a younger Phil and a beautiful woman with long dark hair and wide, almond-shaped eyes. Most of the time they were in ski outfits, the sun bouncing off their goggles. Then there was one of the woman with a squirming baby in her arms, pink and puckered. Then the three of them – their son, I guessed. He was a cute little kid with the same almond eyes and thin nose. They were posed in front of a Christmas tree, on a sled, and, of course, on skis.

“Yeah, it’s hard not to,” said Phil. Then he took out a map from under his coffee mug and unfolded it for Dad.

“So here we are. This is the range you’re looking at here. Now, you said most of you were new skiers, is that right?”

More like non-skiers, I wanted to say.

“First time for all of us except for Jeremy. We can’t wait,” said Dad, squeezing Kathy’s hand.

“Well, this guide will tell you all about the different mountains. I have to say, Sugar Peak’s probably your best bet if you’re only here for a week. It’s about ten minutes away and it’s got a lot of different trails – downhill, cross-country, snowboarding. And feel free to ask me or my son, Eric, about anything. We usually try to head out to the slopes sometime in the afternoon for a run. And if you don’t see us around, you can always just knock.”

He pointed to a door with a brass knocker on it, which was behind his desk. I guessed that was where he lived. Then he opened and closed about five desk drawers and fished out three keys, handing one to Dad and the other two to Jeremy.

“Now, as far as here at the inn, tonight we’re having board games and a slide show about local artists. I’m afraid that might not be that exciting for you younger folk. We have an older crowd right now. But maybe tomorrow you’ll stick around for our Karaoke Night. And happy hour starts in just 45 minutes or so in front of the fire in the front room.”

Dad turned to me and Jeremy.

“Sounds like a plan, huh? We’ll meet you down here in maybe an hour? Have some cocktails, get some dinner?” He put his arm around Kathy’s waist. She put her head on Dad’s shoulder. It fit there so perfectly, like they were two picture puzzle pieces, sliding into place.

“Actually, I don’t need that long, do you?” I said. What, were we all putting on ball gowns and mascara? I had promised Phoebe I’d wear lip gloss, but that wasn’t going to take an hour. Besides, I was starving – I hadn’t eaten since breakfast back in Florida, and I had slept through the salty cereal and sticks trail mix they gave us on the flight.

Dad’s face fell. “Well, we kinda thought we could take an hour to … freshen up,” he said. Kathy was looking at the ground, but I could see she was blushing.

Oh, great. Now I got it. They had other plans. Ew! I mean, I know it happens, but did they have to announce it? Should we make sure Phil knew, too? Maybe put out a flyer along with Karaoke Night? I felt my teeth grinding together.

“That sounds great, Dad,” said Jeremy, grabbing my arm and our two bags and pulling me down the hall. “We’ll see you downstairs in about an hour.”

We found our rooms upstairs, and Jeremy pushed me into one of them and slammed the door.

“What is your problem, Sam?” he spat. His eyebrows came together in a sharp point.

“I don’t have a problem. What is your problem?” I shot back.

“I don’t have a problem. You’re the one with the problem.”

“Well, maybe my problem is you.”

“Maybe my problem is you.”

I know, real mature, right?

Usually Jeremy and I get along fine. We used to play together a lot when we were little. Then we went through this couple of years when all he would do was wrestle me until I cried, and I would pull on his ears and try to make them longer. About a year after his Bar Mitzvah he started getting these weird patches of hair on his cheeks and he smelled like sweaty armpits all the time and he sort of stopped talking. I mean he said things like, “Hey, what’s up?” and “Get out of the bathroom or I’m gonna pee on your bed.” But that’s about it.

Now I barely see him. We’re in the same high school but we have totally different sets of friends. He spends most of his time in his room or playing poker with his friend Alec. Except when he hogs the television to watch wrestling, or messes up the microwave melting cheese. I don’t even know if he’s planning on going to college when he graduates. He used to talk about running for city councilman. But I think you have to read more than just the sports section to do that. Anyway, sometimes I miss hanging out with Jeremy. Especially since the divorce. Neither home feels really right to me, and he’s the only one who could understand what I’m talking about. I kept wanting to talk with him about the whole Kathy thing, but even at the wedding, the most he had said to me was, “Are you finishing your tamales?” and then he picked off all the cheese on mine. I guess I was hoping on this trip to at least have him to hang out with. To be on my side. But it didn’t look like that was happening.

“Listen, Sam. You’re trying to ruin this for Dad and that is not cool!” Jeremy’s nostrils were flaring now. Even his freckles looked mean.

“I am not trying to ruin this for Dad. I’m hungry!”

“Oh, come on. You’re not letting them have any time to themselves!”

“Well, if they wanted to stay in their room by themselves the whole time, then why did they invite us along?” I crossed my arms for emphasis.

“Dad just wants us to all get to know each other.”

“Sounds to me like they just want to have cuddle time.” I knew I sounded babyish, but I couldn’t help it.

“Oh, grow up, Sam. You’re just mad because you’re not Daddy’s little girl anymore. And by the way, it’s called sex, not cuddle time.”

Leave it to Jeremy to be delicate. He just didn’t get it, did he? Sex was one thing I did not want to talk about with my brother. Ever.

He took the remote off the top of the television set and turned on MTV. There was a video of a girl singer named Faryll Brea who was about fourteen years old. It felt like every week there was some hottie singer who just got out of preschool with a new album. I wondered if she’d lost all of her baby teeth yet. She was singing about how sometimes she felt so alone she thought she was just a shadow. Like she would know what alone was. She was walking in and out of a big pool in the middle of the woods and she wasn’t even pretending to sing all the words. Her sequined dress was making me dizzy. I had to get out of there.

I grabbed my bags off the bed and dumped them in the room next door. Then I dug around for my cell phone and marched down the stairs. Phil was standing in front of the fire now, explaining to an older woman with an explosion of gray frizzy hair about the plumbing systems in older houses like this one.

“As long as you’re going to take care of this,” the woman said with a thick Boston accent. She looked a little like those pictures of Albert Einstein when he had a big idea. I was so busy watching her head bob up and down that I missed the last step and crumpled down on the landing with a thud.

Nice one, Levy. Martha Graham, here I come.

“Everything okay, Samantha?” called Phil.

“Yup, yup!” I said, and picked myself up, gave him a wave, and slipped out the front door.

The air felt good, even though it was freezing. There was a short slate walk and then a front lawn covered in snow, rolling forward into what looked like a line of fir trees. It was too dark now to make out much except for a wide-open sky with a gazillion stars and a hazy scoop of moon.

I opened my phone and pressed Phoebe’s number. I missed her so much. Phoebe always knew what I was thinking, sometimes even before I had time to say it. Like when we hung out in her basement, cutting up magazines, and eating grapes and pretzels. Sometimes we just stayed in her room, lying on the mint carpeting and staring up at the ceiling, not needing to say anything at all. I wished she was here right now.

Phoebe and I had been best friends starting in nursery school. There was a big table in our classroom filled with buckets and toys and salt instead of a sandbox. We were playing with it, and Phoebe dared me to eat a cup of salt. I tried to and threw up all over my blue jumper. Then both of us cried for the rest of the morning. We’ve been inseparable ever since.